


Cleaning Up

by Penknife



Category: Leverage
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-14 14:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/pseuds/Penknife
Summary: It's been a bad day, but it's getting better.





	Cleaning Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kereia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/gifts).



> Written as a treat in the Chocolate Box exchange.

Eliot turns around from locking the door to see Parker limping across the floor, wincing with every step and muttering "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow." He's pretty sure Hardison got all the broken glass out of her feet in the van, but she's still leaving bloody footprints. 

"Are you going to let me help?" Hardison says, making an awkward move to pick her up, which Parker evades neatly.

"No. Ow, ow, ow."

"Hardison, stop trying to pick up Parker with your bad arm. Parker, sit down."

"I don't see you helping," Hardison mutters. There is a lot of muttering going on. Eliot isn't helping because he's getting the first aid supplies, and also because arguing with Parker about whether she needs help is a waste of time, and also because the couch is _right there_. 

"Both of you sit down," he says. His own shoulders sting where some of the shards of broken glass knifed through his shirt, but that's annoying, not important. At least he was wearing shoes, and didn't stand there and get hit in the arm with a shower of bricks.

Parker flops down on the couch and, amazingly, actually offers him her feet to work on without any further protests. The cuts don't look too bad, but when he peels the torn T-shirt bandages off, she can't keep her feet from twitching. He's seen her walk off a sprained ankle, but it's hard to ignore shallow cuts, every nerve doing its best to get her attention. 

"Those might need stitches," Hardison says. 

"They don't need stitches," Parker says, as if Hardison is being ridiculous.

"They don't," Eliot says. "Are you going to go get your arm X-rayed?"

"It's not broken," Hardison says, as if he's trying to convince himself. "Look, I can move my fingers." 

"Good for you," Eliot says. He's cleaning the cuts and putting proper bandages on Parker's feet, trying to be fast, not gentle. It won't make anything better to screw around. When he's done, she nods just a little, and he can see her shoulders relax. 

He's trying to come down himself. He hates it when people hurt his people. "Let me see the arm," he says.

"Leave it alone, you're going to poke it, it's -- ow! I told you he was going to poke it," Hardison complains, trying to wrench his arm away.

"Don't be a baby," Eliot says, but now he's trying to be gentle. He doesn't think it's broken, but what is he supposed to be, an X-ray machine? But he thinks now that they're home Hardison just wants to stay right here, in the place where bad things don't happen. If his arm swells up like crazy overnight, they'll hit the ER in the morning. "It might not be broken."

"That's what I'm telling you."

"What about your back?" Parker asks Eliot.

"What about my back?"

"Your shirt looks like Wolverine went to town on you," Hardison says. "And not in a good, kinky way."

"I don't know why I even like you."

"Take his shirt off him," Parker says.

Hardison looks like he's willing to try, but hesitates. "You know I'm working with one good arm, here."

"Which means he won't really try to fight you."

"You are both children," Eliot says, and takes his own damn shirt off. 

"Toss me that stuff you were using on Parker's feet," Hardison says, and Eliot does, because it's less trouble than arguing. Hardison's hands are careful, like always, and while that's probably dragging out the amount of time that his shoulders are stinging, he doesn't argue, because the touch still feels good. Hardison spreads his hand on Eliot's back when he's done, and it's grounding. Grounding is good.

"Can we go to bed now?" Parker asks.

"Yes, please," Hardison says, and Eliot thinks that he ought to insist on showers, and on getting the blood off the floor, but he doesn't always get to run this show. They pile into bed, and Hardison pulls the covers up over the three of them like he thinks the blanket would actually stop bullets. 

They're both where Eliot can feel them breathing. He's going to let himself stay right here, for a while, because he can.


End file.
